#crucified writes

[crucifiedramblings]

yearning for gregory "i'm not a violent dog, i don't know why i bite" house and james "i wish you were a girl" wilson to just shut up and kiss on the mouth already, day 286547653

[crucifiedramblings]

me with eddie munson rn, send me eddie x reader asks/prompts

"undoing this character's death would take away his sacrifice and character arc" girl I don't give a shit. I'm bringing him back through the power of ao3 fix-it fics and there's nothing you can do to stop me x

[mccallhero]

we all have a h u n g e r .

[0m3n-0f-d3ath]

Kat and Lily

They find each-other in every universe💥

[crucifiedramblings]

send me an ask with a prompt and two characters (reader included)! <3

(fandoms are in the tags!)

⋆˚࿔ “we need to…” prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ “we need to talk.”

²⁾ “we need to get out of here- now.”

³⁾ “we need to get some rest, or we’ll be more of a hindrance than a help.”

⁴⁾ “we need to at least pretend to be civil - can you find it in yourself do that much for me, please?”

⁵⁾ “we need to get our stories straight before they separate us for questioning.”

⁶⁾ “we need to get you patched up.”

⁷⁾ “we need to get warm, or the cold will kill us before we have the chance to worry about anything else doing it.”

⁸⁾ “we need to move; it’s not safe here anymore.”

⁹⁾ “we need to look the part if we want to stand any chance at fitting in.”

¹⁰⁾ “we need to work together on this.”

¹¹⁾ “we need to get to him before they do.”

¹²⁾ “we need to play this close to the vest; i don’t know exactly what’ll happen if we don’t, but i don’t think either of us will want to find out.”

¹³⁾ “we need to get some food into you, you look like you’re ready to drop.”

¹⁴⁾ “we need to get them out of there!”

¹⁵⁾ “we need to stop and plan our next move; rushing in will only land us back at square one all over again.”

¹⁶⁾ “we need to start locking that damn door.”

¹⁷⁾ “we need to get your head looked at, i swear to g- “

¹⁸⁾ “we need to increase the security around here. i’m not taking any more chances, not after this.”

¹⁹⁾ “we need to end this, and you know it too.”

²⁰⁾ “we need to get our own place. if [roommate] walks in on us one more time, i’m genuinely never going to be able to look them in the eye again.”

²¹⁾ “we need to get a handle on this before it goes public.”

²²⁾ “we need to put a stop to this before anyone finds out.”

²³⁾ “we need to get away for a while, what do you say?”

²⁴⁾ “we need to figure out what it is we’re doing here. do you feel the way i do, or has this never been more than a fling to you?”

²⁵⁾ “we need to celebrate!”

²⁶⁾ “we need to get an answer out of him, one way or another.”

²⁷⁾ “we need to get in there; how remains to be seen.”

²⁸⁾ “we need to go get help!”

²⁹⁾ “we need to get better friends.”

³⁰⁾ “we need to come out here more.”

[hypnoneghoul]

Sundown: Chapter 6

WC: 1,1K

Relationship: SwissAlps

Tags: AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain,Transfeminine Mountain, Angst, Lies, Identity Reveal, Heartbreak, Hurt no Comfort (in this chapter)

“No,” Mounty gasps, finally realizing. He scared her. “Swiss, no, that’s not–it can’t be–”

Read chapter 1 here or on AO3.

Read chapter 6 under the cut or on AO3.

It took five months for Swiss’ past to catch up to him.

He knew it would—sooner rather than later, knowing his luck—but he really thought he would have more time to…come up with a plan. Anything, he would do anything to avoid more heartbreak, he had promised himself. And yet he failed at a simple task of being honest.

Life just never seems to have any mercy in store for him, so why would he even have hope?

It’s a busy evening in Mounty’s bar; it’s warm—the most important reason—but the word cozy also comes to mind. Even despite the spiderwebs, broken furniture and a distant smell of rotten wood. There are flowers, though, all year long, so very clearly Mounty’s touch. It’s her home and she loves it as it is—which makes Swiss love it, too—and such an atmosphere is inviting.

The cowboy is, as usual, hanging out by the bar, watching his girl work. She’s happy, he’s happy and it’s all good, until he hears a name he has been praying for months not to hear ever again.

“He ain’t so scary anymore!” a man from the other side of the bar laughs, and the people surrounding him follow. “He was a cunt, no idea where he got all that reputation from. The mighty Shadow nearly pissed himself!”

Another wave of booming laughter sounds and it hurts Swiss’ eardrums. He tenses, hands going clammy around the glass he’s holding, and listens in, despite his better judgment.

“He’s been hiding like a coward for months after that one failed heist, from what I’ve heard,” the man continues. “Snatched a chance when he peaked his ugly head out and now the bitch is done!”

Swiss’ blood boils and freezes in his veins at the same time. Mounty doesn’t notice; she’s too busy, and the man is grateful. The stranger in the corner keeps laughing with his companions as he insults the infamous Shadow and gloats about something he most definitely didn’t do.

Of course he didn’t.

Swiss doesn’t know what makes him snap. He only notices that he stood up when he feels the pulse of a man he’s holding against the wall by his neck under his hand.

“Swiss!” he hears Mounty call from behind the bar. The whole place is so quiet all of a sudden. “Let him go!”

The cowboy chokes the stranger slowly for a bit longer, staring into his terrified eyes. If he…if he actually were to finish off the Shadow, he would be the one to piss himself. He is about to prove it.

“You’re the cunt here,” he mutters before letting go.

Swiss storms off without sparing a glance in anyone’s direction again, not even Mounty. He all but runs out of the saloon and behind it, into the cold and dark where he sits on the wet ground and hangs his head. His eyes sting and he wants to just cry, but he can’t. He ran out of tears a long time ago.

He hears the squeak of the saloon’s batwing door and the shuffle of its additional covering that they have put on for the cold nights and he prays to anyone who’s willing to listen that it’s not–

“Swiss, darling,” Mounty whispers and the tone of it the–the fear in it breaks the man’s heart in half. He scared her. 

He scared her.

He doesn’t reply, he can’t speak; it’s like there’s something lodged in his throat. Shame, most likely.

Despite her visible apprehension, the barmaid comes closer. She crouches by Swiss and just…waits. She waits for whatever may happen and she looks determined to do so for however long it may take.

He scared her.

Swiss simply breathes for a while before he dares to open his mouth again, “The–the Shadow. What do you know about…him?”

“Just the rumors,” Mounty shrugs, doing her very best to seem unbothered; casual about the whole ordeal, “but I don’t think I’d like to meet him. That won’t be a problem, though, ‘cause apparently he’s dead. Nobody’s seen him or heard of him for months and that man that you just…”

“He’s not dead,” Swiss interrupts—too sharp, too loud. He immediately hates himself for it, even more than he already did. 

He scared her.

“How do you know?” she asks, much quieter.

The man swallows audibly against that mysterious something that’s suffocating him, “How many months do you think it’s been since…since he was last seen?”

“Hm…” The barmaid thinks for a moment, counting silently. “Something like five, probably. 

Swiss chuckles sadly, locking his eyes on Mounty’s. He doesn’t speak—doesn’t explain—but he doesn’t need to. She’s a smart girl, and the sorrow, regret and shame in Swiss’ eyes are speaking louder and clearer than he ever could.

“No,” Mounty gasps, finally realizing.

He scared her.

“Swiss, no, that’s not–it can’t be–”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” is all he can say. He should have so much more to say, beg for forgiveness, but he can’t. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, that this is simply too big.

He gives up.

Mounty’s thoughts are racing, her breathing picks up, and her eyes widen. She’s an image of pure horror as she connects more and more dots. Swiss feels like throwing up.

“I’ve been…for months I’ve been dating–I’ve been sleeping with the world’s most famous criminal, I’ve–I’ve been…” she rambles, more to herself than the man. His whole body hurts. “I’m–I’m in love with the world’s most famous murderer.”

He scared her.

“Sweetheart, please, just–just hear me out, gimme a chance to explain before…” before he leaves, he wanted to say, because there is nothing else that can be done. He has to get the fuck out and away from her, from the most precious creature on the entire planet. One that he stained with his touch, with his lies. No hands that have so much blood on them should ever be allowed to touch something as pure as Mounty.

Thankfully, she doesn’t let him finish, “Explain what? That you lied to me and put on a whole ass fake personality to just…to just what, exactly?”

“It’s not like that, I just–” Swiss tires, but he’s not sure what it is that he’s trying to do. “I was running away! The Shadow…me, I–it’s not me, Mounty, please, let me–”

He scared her.

“Maybe I will,” she spits. “But certainly not now.”

“Momo, please,” the man falters and he’s about to fall to his knees and grab onto the barmaid’s feet and beg when she moves away. “Please, don’t be scared of me.”

“Too late, Shadow.” Mounty leaves him there, out in the cold darkness.

And Swiss finally cries.

[ducktracy]

i've been in a very "nostalgic for SpongeBob" mood lately and that's warranted a lot of reflecting on Baby Me being a Sponge fanatic and thinking of what she'd think of now. and i have to say that one of my favorite parts of doing what i do--and also the most stupidly niche--is that one of my first online hyperfixations i recall having was SpongeBob production music. i remember animating magical girl transformations in Flipnote to SPONGEBOB MUSIC. i remember feeling so smart researching all the songs and getting to hear them without any dialogue on top. very gratifying to 11 year old me. i was and am still very fixated on production music, and so i always get very excited when seeing uploads of these songs and spotting a screenshot of a scene i worked on among them. one of my favorite aspects of watching episodes premiere is seeing what music they added on top of scenes i touched. it's just neat how many facets my thankfulness for Doing What I'm Doing gets to reach. i'm never not thinking of how grateful i am to be doing what i'm doing

[rae-butter]

I hate the amnesia trope. You build up this great character over the course of a story, fragments and flaws created by experiences you’ve watched over the course of the series only to shatter it into a billion pieces and for what. You had a perfectly good character of god-like proportions and reduced him to a fool. You should be ashamed of yourself.

[mappingthesky]

without further ado…..it is my great honor to post the eighth chapter of burning through you. thank you so much for bearing with me on this one, i hope it is every bit worth the wait :::)

[crucifiedramblings]

GREGORY HOUSE— plus size partner headcanons

nsfw under the cut. minors dni.

this is quite literally my favorite concept ever as a plus-sized individual, but here are some general things i think house would do in a relationship with a chubby/plus-sized partner <3 nsfw headcanons under the cut ✭

not to say house has never dated someone bigger than him before, but it wasn't something he really paid attention to. let's be real here, he would definitely make a comment or two regarding your "well endowed backside"

house is definitely a thigh man— the more you have, the happier he'll be

when the two of you cuddle in bed, house will gingerly tuck his hands under your thighs— this time, in a non-suggestive way— soaking up your excess heat through his palms, burying his face into the soft plushness of your chest

in the morning, house will find himself splayed across your torso— face down against your sternum. he'll lie there for a while, listening to your soft breaths and enjoying the warmth

if you're ever worried about being on top— don't. house will shut down any irrational fear before it even starts.

"what are you talking about?" house glanced up at you from his eagerly seated position on the mattress. you shook your head with flushed cheeks, embarrassment flooding in.

"i just— i don't want to hurt you. your leg." the last part is said more quietly, as though it was an insult to even bring it up. house, however, let out a wheezy laugh in response; slapping his good thigh, he slowly got up onto his knees, gently grasping your hands in his own.

"sweetheart— you could fuck me so hard that my other leg decides to give out mid-stroke— i'd die an incredibly grateful man." house chuckled, shaking his head with a wide grin. "now— please— sit on my dick before it loses interest. i'm not in my twenties anymore— there's a time limit!"

when house is fucking you especially hard, he is more than thankful for the extra grip on your hips

as said before, he is a thigh man— when house is eating you out, clamping your thighs around his head is his own personal heaven

house likes seeing your ass ripple when he gives it a good smack <3

[taxevaider]

i originally wrote this in an old sketchbook so i js rewrote it (and tweaked it some) ^_^

Porch Step Cookies

Farmer!Epic x MEEE (ough, this can js be read as first person tho lol)

“tell me,” Epic sits next to me on the steps of his farm house and hands me a plate filled with cookies. It takes me a second but a small smile rises on my lips when I realize they are chocolate chip. The plate is warm to the touch, a welcomed feeling, far more welcoming to the slight chill that lapped against my face a few moments ago. 

“why’d you come all the way up here? aren’t you from wayyyy down south?” I nod as I pick up one of the soft cookies, its leftover warmth spreading to my fingers. “Yeah, I came up to see family.” I let out a small laugh/sigh, allowing my shoulders to drop slightly. “Some time after, I got cabin fever, so they sent me here, said you were a close friend so I wouldn’t have to worry.” 

He gave a nod and nodded in response. For a few minutes, me and him sit side by side, simply choosing to the wind brush up against the two you. Only after a while, I remember that I am still holding on to one of the cookies, so to not let it go to waste—or the ants below, I take a bite. A soft gasp leaves my mouth as the sweetness of it spreads across my tongue.   

“Did,” I swallow so that I don’t speak with my mouth full. “Did you make these?” 

Epic gains a bashful smile soon followed by a slight purple hue coming to his zygomatic bones. “yeah, actually. i like to bake when i find the time.” He turns his head towards me, his smile now much wider than before. A small feeling flutters in my stomach as my face copies his.  

[agirlking]

“The Sullys didn’t owe Spider anything, they didn’t adopt him.” It is basic decency to not leave a child with the murderers that kidnapped him. Much less a child you knew since infancy, much less a child who at least two of your children love like he’s their own brother.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Sacred Moments (Batman AU)

So that new AU I wrote a post about earlier is now almost 7 pages long. Ha ha ha, joke's on me. Here's the first page.

Masterpost

Maeve tries to scream as they grab her, but she is quickly silenced. The men pull her further back into the alley. One man has an arm wrapped around her body, pulling her into him as his other hand covers her mouth.

“Hurry!” He spits out, and the second man pulls a needle out of his bag and brings it toward me. She thrashes and fights, but the man holding her has a sure grip, and they successfully inject her with whatever is in the needle. She’s not awake long after that.

She wakes up in the trunk of a car a few times, but they seemed to have timed the drug well, always reinjecting her right while she’s still fighting off the sleep of the last dose. A few times she wakes up tied to a bed in a motel and that’s terrifying, but the men with her, give her a snack and a drink, let her use the bathroom before they drug her again. They tell her stories while she eats and show her news articles of Gotham. News of the man they’re bringing her to skinning peoples faces. Stories of a duffle bag full of heads courtesy of the guy Skinner Man hopes to give her to. Tales of gang wars, territory disputes and murder.

She’s not scared of dying. Not in the way she’s scared of living through certain things. She had always hoped that if something terrible were to happen to her she would just die, rather than have to live through it. Take the time to hurt, heal, live with the wounds and scars. There are certain wounds she’s not sure she could live with. Struggles she’s not sure she would want to survive. 

But these men try to scare her with things that will kill her, and while being skinned or beheaded isn’t high on her list of to-dos, dead is dead and she’s certain she won’t be caring for long if any of that happens to her. 

After a long hazy trip, at least three stops at motels, she wakes up in the trunk again. There are muffled voices around her. The car is stopped and the trunk opens. She is groggy and disoriented but still resists as a hand grabs her and sits her up. 

“Well well well, look what we have here.” A new voice greets her. This man is not one of the ones who has driven her across the country. He walks up to her and stop in front of where she’s sitting cross-legged in the trunk of a car.

“I just need confirmation that you’re the one I wanted, don’t mind me.” The man reaches towards her, grabbing her shirt and pushing it up her abdomen with one hand while the other hand reaches for her waistband. She thrashes, hitting the man and trying to kick out, but the drug has made her limbs loose and wobbly. He gets a grip on her pants and pushes them down slightly. He doesn’t go for the button or zipper and this confuses her enough for him to push the clothing out of the way enough for him to see her soulmate mark.  Once he does he lets her go and backs away.

“She’s the one. Put her back to sleep and I’ll set up the meeting.”

[sapphorror]

so I don't necessarily have anything to *say* about it just yet but I find this moment very interesting because if there's one thing that's always been very central to Dib's characterization it's that he, like Zim, is driven primarily by ego—and more to the point, his sense of heroism is ultimately constructed in much the same way Zim's role as an invader is. It's a shallow fantasy he's crafted for himself to make living more bearable, and I would think that the opportunity to be hailed as an entire planet's chosen savior would be exactly the kind of thing he'd seize on. It's EXACTLY how he sees himself, or at least, how he wants to see himself.

And the really interesting thing is that we actually DO see exactly this happen later on in the same story, when he finally wins and it maybe just a little bit goes to his head. He's genuinely well-intentioned, and he wants to teach the Plim to rise up and save themselves rather than rely solely on him, but that's just it—his ultimate end goal as Defender of the Earth has always been to expose the truth and make people realize how blind they've been, but now that he's opened their eyes they can go forth and seize their own destiny, which just happens to look a lot like all the things Dib personally cares about. Perhaps ironically, his desired role is less hero than prophet, and maybe that's why he finds it so hard to swallow the notion of starring in someone else's pre-made narrative.

(And there's something to be said here, about how Zim, for all his unrepentant Zim-ness, might've actually gotten one thing a little bit right when he told Dib the Plim weren't suited to self-actualization—that they didn't want it. To Zim's view, of course, this only makes them exploitable and we're right back to him being horrible again, but I think there is something worth considering about the Plim's autonomy and that, faced with all the evidence and every means with which to save themselves, they still asked—literally asked—Dib to do it for them. Which begs the question—is Dib's continued insistence on developing the Plim's independence itself a kind of subjugation? How about his fixation on showing humankind something they so obviously don't want to see?)

... But you know the really funny part?

Dib ultimately rejects yet another heroic title that isn't to his liking, albeit much less surprisingly this time. Lesson unlearned.

Take this all with a grain of salt—I'm thinking out loud here and quite literally didn't expect to say any of this, but it's an aspect of Dib's character that interests me, and it was actually really unexpected and exciting to read a piece of canon material going into it. I think I'd like it if there'd been more emphasis on Dib's initial motives being largely the same as Zim's in essence—that is to say, feeding his ego and spiting the nemesis—since his ultimate epiphany is that all this time wasted on a petty popularity contest could've been spent actually, you know, being a hero, but the message still comes across and the core of the story being told is really solid. I'm going to be obsessed for weeks.

Also, Plab is everything to me. And I really do think it says something that the single faithful outlier among the Plim still thought Dib could maybe afford to cool it on the reclaiming-their-individuality bit. That's honestly more telling to me than the opinion of any crowd.

[daydrinking75]

fuck you henry marchbanks winter would so listen to flowerface

[inbabylontheywept]

I hate to confess this, but sometimes, when I am reading books of some kind, I'll get this very happy feeling of 'Oh! I could do that!'

Sometimes, it's a very literal 'I could do that', as in, I fully believe I could do that today. I say this while loving Frankenstein, but when I read that book at age 18 there was a very visceral sensation that a fellow 18 year old wrote it. Other times, it's this feeling of 'Eh, it's not my style, but I could probably imitate. Better than ChatGPT at least.'

And I like that, because it makes me feel like this writing this is, while not easy, something that I am doing quite well in.

But other times, I will read something and I will feel painfully jealous because I will admit that I have absolutely no fucking idea how they did that, and it was beautiful and stunning and I want it but I can't even imagine a world where I could do it.

And to name names, the first writer I know that does this basically every time is Sam Kriss. Everything that Sam Kriss writes makes me want to join a cult. I wonder how my idiot ancestors were duped into following a 14 year old farmboy to Utah just to survive malaria 5 times in 5 years by the Great Salt Lake, and then I read Sam Kriss and go oh, that's why. This is a compulsion that I always had, that was always in me, and I didn't know until I ran into his work. Like I inherited shrapnel from my father and had no idea until I stepped into an MRI machine and gave birth to this bloody chunk of rusted steel and all I could do was look at it and go "Ah, right, guess I did inherit that. Lovely."

The second is Terry Pratchett, who is not just funny, which is easy, but is relentlessly funny. Always funny. It never stops. He is a marathon of comedy, and the insane part of it to me is not that I couldn't write a single sentence as funny as him, it's that I could not possibly write three to five hundred consecutive pages of it.

Anyway: To the fellow hobbyists out there, who does this for you? Or are you wise enough to never look at some popular work and think "Eh, you know, I could do this?"